The colonel walks around the room, throwing a stern glance my way as he passes. The three soldiers exit from the other side of the room, and the GM resumes. “Sorry guys. I know this is sudden, but the military isn’t taking ‘no’ for an answer. You have half an hour to gather anything you need, and reassemble downstairs.”
“I just started,” I say.
“Young Robert. You’re my principal asset on this project. You said that you wanted to help, right?”
“Yeah, but––”
“Alright. Then meet the others downstairs in twenty nine minutes.”
The GM follows the colonel’s path and exits the room without another sound. I turn to Tom, who’s staring ahead blankly.
“What the crap? You didn’t say anything about this.”
“I didn’t know,” he says calmly, as if nothing happened. “Besides, that’s corporate life. You go where the boss says. You got a problem with that? Go back to cleaning robots.”
My immediate impulse is to tell him, “crap yes, I have a problem with that,” but my tongue pushes into my cheek as my teeth squeeze it gently. In a rude way, he’s put the whole of the situation into perspective.
I rest my head in an open palm as the room clears out. When the footsteps and chatter stop, I look up. Tom is still sitting there, staring ahead in silence.
“You’re upset about this too, aren’t you?”
“They chose everyone in this room for a reason. I’m sure you know why you’re here, and if you don’t, then you aren’t as bright as I thought.”
“We’re here for the same reason, aren’t we? Because we were working on the problem together? I’m sure there are a million people that have been fighting with virus code this week. What makes us so special?”
His head turns toward me. “That’s not why you’re here, and you know it. I’m here because of a past acquaintance. That’s been made abundantly clear. The military is very specific about who they recruit. Let’s go grab something to eat. Who knows when they’ll feed us?”
“I have questions.”
“I’m sure the soldiers will be more than happy to answer them.” He stands up. “You gonna tell them no?”
“I––no.”
“Right, then let’s go.”
I follow him out of the conference room, and he heads directly for the lift. Inside, I notice little holes in the back wall that I didn’t see before. Each of them gently curved into a tiny funnel. We ride to some random floor, and the hallway looks just like the one in the video, without the bullet holes or blood. Yellow walls, and soft carpeted texture on the ground.
He leads me into an apartment with blank textures, but several shelves. Boxes on top of them are filled with electronic gizmos.
“What’s all this?”
“It’s my apartment. The food printer is over there. Can you make us some steak and eggs? Or make me steak and eggs, you can have whatever you want.”
He disappears into the back, and I approach the food printer. It’s some kind of deluxe model with over a dozen food tubes piped into the back.
“Steak and eggs,” I say, “times two.”
The print heads go to work without badgering me with ancillary sales tactics or stupid questions, making sizzling eggs and a very convincing steak. I watch in awe. I tried making steak on my old printer, and it came out as a gelatinous mass. The print heads on this one carefully craft grains into the diamond shaped sirloins.
“You’ve never seen a food printer before either?”
“Never seen one this awesome. How did you get this recipe?”
“I don’t know. The machine came loaded with a bunch of stuff. If Bee is in control, the food might come out laced with poison.”
I hear the clicking vibration of a tablet dropping on the kitchen island, and spin around as it burps. It’s been incredibly quiet.
“Bee, are you still here?”
It plays the Spring concerto.
“Why are you trying to mess everyone up, Bee? How did you get on the network?”
“I love you,” she chirps, and continues playing music.
Tom stares at it, and his arm catches my attention. Two blue tubes run from just under his armpit to a silver box on the table.
“What the hell is that?”
“Oil change.”
“Oil change?”
He smiles. “Limb replacement from an accident a long time ago. You like it?”
“The whole arm?”
“Yep. The whole arm, shoulder, couple ribs, and some stabilizers to protect my spine.”
He plucks out the tubes and rolls his sleeve down.
“You’re a cyborg?”
“Part cyborg. Looks real, doesn’t it.”
“It had me fooled. I saw the scars, but I thought––I don’t know what I thought.”
“Dr. Waite’s handiwork.”
TWENTY ONE
Tom and I arrive on the steps in front of the building. I only got to know Hiroshi Tower for a couple of hours, and I was now on my way somewhere else. I tried contacting Amanda from Tom’s apartment, but the military had already blocked my account.
Scott and some of the others parade around the steps, looking up or out, and making small talk. I stand no farther than a few feet from Tom. Even though I have only known him for the week, he’s my rock. My steadiness in the craziness of what he calls the real world, away from the comfort of the place I have called home for the last several years. The last link to a quickly fading life, severed by bright sunshine and reflections bouncing off mirror surfaced buildings.
A black truck rolls up with the sound of thunder. It’s the most curious vehicle I have ever seen or read about. Its profile isn’t smooth, like most forms of transportation, but a clunky box of steel. The wheels stand waist tall. My mind hunts for a memory of anything that I may have seen like it in the past.
Bee chirps quietly from my pocket, and I pull the tablet out to examine it. “You need to be quiet,” I whisper. The screen display changes to a vibrant emulsion of colors, and Amanda’s face appears in the psychedelic pattern.
“Robert?,” she says. I turn away from Tom, and walk a few meters away, holding the tablet close.
“Amanda? Is that you?”
“Why are you all weird colors?” she asks.
“I don’t know. I’m doing this job for the military. They wouldn’t let me make a call earlier. Bee must have found some way to patch me through. Are you doing okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. This is so weird, you have streaks of green across your face,” she laughs.
“Shhh. Not too loud. I’m not supposed to be talking to anyone.” I look over my shoulder. The others haven’t loaded into the truck yet. I run my fingers over the tablet display, feeling for the warmth of her skin.
“I can’t talk very long. They’re about to take us somewhere for the project.”
“Secret missions?” She smiles. “I have one of my own. I saw this incredible code in a daydream. I’ve been tinkering with it between customers. I’m not very good at programming though. I was hoping you could help me with it. Are you going to be back this weekend?”
“I don’t know if they’ll let me. They said we’ll be gone until we’re done.”
The image flashes twice, accompanied by a blast of static with each flicker.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Okay. Call me when you get in.”
“Robert,” barks a sharp voice. I spin around, and Tom is waving at me from the back of the truck, where the others are climbing in.
“I have to go. I’ll call you as soon as they let me.”
“Okay,” she says. “Go do your important job, and don’t forget about us little people.”
The screen goes dead for two seconds, and then the normal display reloads. Something touches my shoulder, and I jump as I spin toward.
“What are you doing?” asks Tom. His neck cranes over the device. “C’mon, let’s go.”
I follow him to the back of the giant
wheeled box. The inside is hollow, and everyone from the meeting is stuffed onto cramped benches inside. I climb in, planting myself near the back, and Tom squishes beside me. The temperature inside is twice as hot as outside, and the moisture of sweat and breathing makes the air stuffy. It’s easily the most uncomfortable place I’ve ever been.
Two soldiers close the back hatch, allowing a view of the city through the remaining air gap. The truck rattles to life. Loud and noisy. The roar sharpens as it starts to roll. Bumps, rattles, and constantly shifting acceleration knock me around. It’s impossible not to rub against the sweaty arms beside me.
The next time I look out, what I can still see of Hiroshi Tower blends with the shrinking city skyline. I continue watching until the whole cityscape turns to a black blob on the horizon. For a moment, I wonder if I’ll ever see it again. Maybe the virus will win, and gain control over everything, and I’ll be stuck in some military compound for the rest of my life.
As if being stuffed into this box like cheese cream is packed into a food tube wasn’t bad enough, the seats are solid and flat. They don’t adjust at all, and they aren’t even padded. The constant jolts cause sores on my legs and thighs. My shoulders bump against Tom’s steel arm and the bony shoulder of the guy on my other side, and I have to lean forward to keep the sharp metal side rail from cutting into my back. I look out again, and the tallest of the buildings has become a tiny faded dot on the horizon, growing smaller by the minute. The highway races away from the truck with roadside fields and old signs.
“How long do you think we’ll be in here?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” says Tom. “As long as the trip takes.” He runs his fingers across the metal box of oil changes in his lap.
I pull my arms in as far as I can, and crouch farther forward in the seat, to keep the shoulder rubbing down. My elbows drop solidly on my knees, and I rest my head on upturned hands. I close my eyes. The hum of the truck and the pressure of my legs against the others refuses to let me disconnect from the musty environment. Sweat builds not only on my brow, but also my chest, sticking to the synthetic fabric of my clothes. The smock is dry on the outside, but the skin underneath is soaked, and it stinks. Is this what soldiers go through every day?
I find a somewhat more comfortable arrangement of body parts, and the boredom of the ride lures me away to a fantasy about Amanda and I being reunited in a couple days. I look forward to a cold apartment, and the warmth of being wrapped in her arms. At some point, the fantasy fades along with the the hum of the tires and motor. I slip away into the world of dreams.
***
I’m leaning against a handrail, looking up at the sky. An impossible sky. The stars aren’t static and clustered, but moving randomly in different directions, and they’re spread homogeneously across the heavens.
Faint green beams trace out circuit lines in the background darkness. Exactly unlike meteors. The showy flare of each darts across the sky, with a fading glow of starlight following it. They make sharp turns, going this way and that. Against the speckled, starry night, there’s a sense of a higher consciousness imparting itself on my world.
A tiny green bee zips past my view, and my eyes track it into a darkened field of barely visible leafy plants dotted with strange looking flowers. Each one has four petals, and they’re arranged in the shape of squares or diamonds. White, black, purple, orange, or red, they all look the same, and yet each one is unique, like cherry blossoms.
Bees hop from flower to flower, and they too are different colors. They glow with a light from the inside, depositing a tiny bit of it on each flower they touch, which responds with its own phosphorescence. Another bee sucks the light from the flower a moment later, flying off to deposit it on another. The dance of light and color calms me, but something is missing. There’s the handrail, and the field of wildflowers. I know I’m on a the roof, but it stretches on forever with no lift in sight.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” asks Don.
I spin round to see him there, in the glowing white garb that has become his bee suit. The white fabric stretches around his head like a great orb, and the bees crawl over the material. Behind him are miniature skyscrapers. Bees run in and out through the main entrances, carrying their golden elixir from the fields to the hive.
A sharp pain stabs the fold of skin between my thumb and first finger. My hand shakes in a mixture of pain and numbness, and I look down to see a shining red splinter poking out. I pinch it in my fingernails and pull it free as a spark of flame burns over the wound without heat. The needle is tiny red dagger.
“They used to have stingers,” says Don.
The skin of my cheeks tightens, pulling my lips into a smile. “You’ve only told me a hundred times.”
The area around the wound reddens, and raises, forming a blister with a tiny drop of blood at the center. The flame burns out, and the pain disappears with it.
“Someday, they’ll have stingers again. We bred them out, but nature has a funny way of returning things to their natural state, given enough time. The queens can still sting, but rarely leave the hive. Stings are temporary, unless you invite the wrath of thousands. That’s why people bred them for so long, despite the danger of getting stuck. The golden nectar is worth a little pain.”
I look up from my hand, and he’s gone. The bees continue their swarm, rushing to and from the glowing boxes. One zips past my face, and my eyes track it through the air, flying upward in a swirl. A flash of light bursts from it at the apex of flight, and it dives into the green below, landing on a peculiar square flower. The edges of the petals are white, and a black square is centered within the white one. I lean closer, and realize it isn’t a flower at all. It’s a tablet. It’s Tom’s device.
The rail disappears, leaving me surrounded by a meadow of electronic flowers shaped like Wi-Fi routers and and tablets, The leaves are robotic control modules. The sky has grown a purplish shade of blue, and brightens to daylight as the hot, hovering sun teases sweat from my pores. In the distance, in front of rolling hills of green and yellow, stands a lift. A square box, like the one on the roof, with silver doors.
When the lift opens, Amanda steps out, wearing a shimmering white dress, and cradling something in her arms. A baby, wrapped in a blanket tightly and hidden from view.
“There he is,” she says softly, her eyes fixed on the tiny bundle. “You wanna say hi to Daddy?”
Euphoria fills me as I step close. My hands fall on her shoulders as I cross around behind her. They slide down her arms, and wrap her warmly while pulling her close. My cheek on her cheek, bathed in the glowing light of the sky as the world melts away, I close my eyes and lay a gentle kiss on her neck.
“Say hi, Cody,” she says. “Say hi to Daddy.”
Vivaldi’s symphony of the Four Seasons plays, but from where, it’s impossible to know. Every molecule of air has become a tiny speaker.
When my eyes open, the music stops, and I’m in a dark room. A screen before me displays Amanda’s face.
“We have to protect him,” she says. “We have to protect Cody. They’ll kill him if we don’t.”
“Who’s going to kill him?”
“The soldiers, Robert. They killed Bee. Now they’re after Cody.”
I shake my head, and take in the surroundings. The walls are black, filled with blue scrolling code.
“We have to save him. He’s alive.”
***
I shake awake, bouncing in my seat and knocking into the others as I sit up. The view has changed. I’m surrounded by short buildings that are anything other than bundled complexes. Instead of fully featured constructions where someone could live, they appear to be single purpose architecture. A group of soldiers marches down a lane in the distance. The ground is covered with empty roads and walking lanes of pure white concrete.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“A long way from home. Did you have a good nap?”
The truck rolls past a brick gatehouse, and stee
l fencing comes into view. More small buildings zip by as the truck turns corner after corner, working its way deeper into the maze of streets and structures. I wipe a bit of drool from the corner of my mouth.
Soldiers walk this way and that, some wearing helmets and others only the black uniforms. We pass some kind of field where a group of them are exercising. More buildings, and then everything comes to a stop.
The noise of the engine dies, and voices shout incoherent phrases outside. A soldier appears at the back of the the truck, and drops the gate.
“Everybody out,” he says.
Tom jumps off the truck with his tiny steel suitcase clutched securely in both hands. I follow. Bee is chirping again.
“Nice to be out of there finally,” says Tom.
“I agree.”
“You were asleep the whole time. I don’t know how anyone could sleep through that.” His arm twitches and shakes. “And this thing is acting up. You think the virus infected my arm?”
“I don’t know.” But I do know. Somewhere, somehow, I know everything. I even know how Bee’s code is written. The poetic prose of the program plays over and over in my mind, as clearly as if it were scrolling before me on a screen. I know every command, every loop, every subroutine. Most of all, I know exactly how to track the virus. Bee has given me the keys to her own destruction. But why?
TWENTY TWO
The mass of programmers and virus hunters follow the soldiers into a single story building with brick walls. I trail behind the group with Tom. I know so little about the world, or why these buildings are so small. Sometimes it’s better to let others lead the way, so that you can learn from their actions.
Inside, everything is sterile. The walls are non-reactive, painted white, and boring. It smells like the chemicals that I use to clean bots. We proceed down a hallway dotted with steel doors, but no windows, and no idea where they lead. Each door has a type of mechanical keypad attached to it, and buttons that protrude from a base plate. Brass tags mark them with number and letter combinations.
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